Am I Not Beautiful?
by The Writer Of Stories
Summary: Pavi Largo's first and final surgery both occurred when he was only 8 years old.


Pavi Largo's first and final surgery both occurred when he was only 8 years old.

There was nothing really that he needed to have surgery for - nothing except a rather large birthmark that had covered the entirety of his left cheek since the day he was born. It was far too large to simply put make up on, and his father was tired of seeing it cover up over a fourth of his son's face.

Pavi liked the birthmark. He thought that it almost looked like a firework explosion, and all explosions were cool, weren't they? But he consented to his fathers wishes and allowed his face to be operated on.

The last thing his father said to him before he got the surgery was "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

And then he was whisked off immediately to the operation room to have the imperfection removed from his face.

When Pavi regained conscious after the surgery, he was almost too scared to ask for a mirror, but did anyways, knowing that it would be the reaction his father wanted from him. When he received the mirror, he found, to his shock, that the birthmark was much _worse_ now.

His skin was naturally pale because he didn't go outside to play much, but yet his birthmark was now a shade of white - no, it was completely and utterly the whitest white Pavi had ever seen. The mark had only been a little bit darker than his skin before, but this was much more noticeable - and would be much more unappealing to his father of course. He would never look at Pavi again!

And when he started to fuss and panic, the genterns and doctors started to fret about him, telling him all sorts of things like "It will fade down into your natural skin color, it's suppose to look like that right now" and "What are you doing with that scalpel" and one or two said things like "Rotti Largo's second son is missing! I heard he ran out of his hospital room with a knife and nobody can find him!"

Now, Pavi was no fool. He knew that his father wanted him to be beautiful like his older brother and sister. He indeed had the hair, eyes and body size that his father wanted - it was just his damned face getting in the way.

Not any more.

Pavi's second surgery happened only hours after his first one, but this one wasn't to change his looks - it was to save his life.

The doctor who found the boy almost got sick when he saw the youngest Largo child on in the corner of the supplies closet, one handedly using the scalpel to make a grotesque outline around his face, the lines dark red and gushing blood like a sick child's crayon drawing.

What made it worse was the hand not occupied by the scalpel, which was desperately trying to rip the separated skin away from the muscles and bone of his skull.

Pavi vaguely remembered stabbing the doctor when he tried to pick him up and screaming at him to make him beautiful like his father wanted.

Then he found himself losing consciousness, likely from blood loss and trauma.

When Pavi awoke, he noticed something - he couldn't see.

He almost started to panic (_Have I gone blind? _he'd thought, feeling on the edge of screaming in terror) before the thought occurred to him that his father likely just didn't want to even look at him, so he must've had his face covered up.

Then he noticed something else - someone seemed to be holding his hand. The nails cutting into his skin were a hint, but the faint scar tissue on the pinkie finger of the person's hand informed him as to who it was with him.

"A-Am…ber…?" he'd whispered, surprised at how terrible his voice sounded.

"Pavi?" she'd said quickly, sounding on the verge of hysteria. "Pavi, are you awake? Are you okay? You can hear me right? Hey, hey answer me, you freak!"

Pavi was definitely surprised by his sister's uncharacteristic worry, but even more to what she was calling him. She'd usually just refer to him as "shit-faced brat" - rarely by his actual name.

Her nails were cutting even deeper into his palm now and he managed to choke out "You're… hurt…ing me…"

And of course that had set her off even worse and she started screaming for genterns and doctors and Luigi and Daddy and Pavi was pretty sure she started crying for her mommy once or twice as well - it really was too bad she was dead. She probably could have made Amber calm down and _stop cutting his palm with her French manicure and_-

And then Amber's hand had disappeared from his own and he'd heard his father's voice, for the first time he could remembered, sound concerned.

"Pavicchi? Can you hear me?"

He'd almost cringed away - his father must have been disappointed, surely he must've - but the possibility of moving his head at all seemed a little far-fetched. There was a terrible throbbing going through it, he suddenly noticed - mostly in his face.

Pavi almost gasped, but of course, that wasn't possible in his proper state either. They couldn't have grafted the ugly thing back on, could they have? He felt his despair hit him in waves as he thought of how much it would hurt to rip it off a second time.

But suddenly his father's voice brought him back into the hospital room.

"Can you hear me, Pavicchi?"

"I told you, he's fucking dead!" Luigi suddenly interjected loudly and Pavi jumped slightly. He really wasn't surprised by his brother's suggestion. Luigi hated him with such a passion, he constantly worried that a knife would slit his throat in his sleep if he didn't lock his door.

He heard his father scold Luigi rather colorfully, and Pavi managed to whisper:

"I'm… sorry."

Luigi cursed at his brother's voice, but their father shooed him from the room and told him that it was okay, that there was a solution, that he really should apologize for making them worry so much, and why would you do that to yourself?

Pavi couldn't work out the words for an answer, but a doctor said that it was likely just trauma induced mania. Simple. Easy. Believable.

And everyone believed it.

Everyone but Pavi.

When they removed whatever was covering his face and Pavi was absolutely horrified at what he saw.

He _had _no face.

His eyes bulged grotesquely out of his skull, the muscles pulsed and moved and in some places, blood lightly leaked down and dripped onto his hospital gown.

"I…" he'd began to say, but then suddenly found himself enveloped in tears - which burned really badly by the way - and he buried what use to be his face in his hands.

Doctors quickly started fretting over him again, telling him things like "Don't cry" and "We can fix it" and "There is a solution" and finally his father spoke, making every other voice in the room go silent.

"You can look like anybody you'd like to."

Pavi mostly liked to wear the faces of women - beautiful, beautiful women!

This invoked a variety of difference reactions, however.

His brother said he was a fag.

His sister said he was a freak.

His father said nothing.

He thought he was beautiful.

Beautiful enough for his father to love, so he must've been beautiful enough for everyone to love.

And maybe he had his bad days where he would throw a fit when he would rip the staples from his face and howl and kick and scream until sedated, and maybe he saw that his father would always avert his eyes whenever he had the chance, but whenever he asked the question, he always got the answer he wanted.

"Am I not beautiful, father?"

There was always a pause, and then his father's tired voice would reach his ears and always say the same thing:

"Of course you are beautiful, Pavicchi."

And that was the only thing that mattered anymore.


End file.
